My new next-door neighbor seems to have life completely figured out.
Small-town golden boy? Check.
Single dad extraordinaire? Check.
Hot baker forearms? I didn't notice them, obviously.
Me? Not so much. Taking over my mom's dream bed and breakfast in Copper Run, Vermont was supposed to help me heal after my divorce. Instead, my scones are inedible, my small talk is worse, and Cliff, yes, the golden boy himself, never fails to point it out.
The problem is, Cliff is everywhere. His charm, his flannel, his pastries, and his daughters, make it impossible not to like him.
Friends? Sure, I can do friends. That's safe.
Except I'm only here for three months before heading back to Seattle for the promotion I've been chasing.
So why am I suddenly imagining what it would be like to kiss my hot neighbor?
